


Closed Books

by MsBee



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 21:37:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18583075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBee/pseuds/MsBee
Summary: How could a book cause so much trouble?Ishara plays detective while Lore remembers his past on Omicron Theta...





	Closed Books

Sitting at the foot of snow-capped mountains and bisected by a crystal clear river, the city of New Geneva sparkled in the sunshine. Although it had been named ‘New’ centuries ago by it’s founders the city had become old since the planet was colonised. It’s age added a dignified beauty -elegance in the old fashioned design of the tall buildings, the wide streets and the grey stone bridge that spanned the water.

It was mid morning. Ishara sat at a table on a cafe terrace overlooking the river. The view was breathtaking beyond anything she had seen in her travels so far. Often the places that she and Lore ended up were seedy or down at heel, but this place was cleaner than anything she could have imagined. The blue of the water, the white peaks of the mountains in the distance, the unpolluted air - everything shone.

She had left the ship early, wanting to browse the city’s famous flea market before it got too busy. A couple of hours passed pleasantly while she pottered around the stalls. To her delight there was fresh produce, cut flowers and beautiful fabrics alongside the antiques and she had wandered up and down hardly knowing what to look at first.

Inevitably after a while hunger had overtaken her. She decided to treat herself to a late breakfast - a donut that oozed with jam along with a deep cup of black coffee - and, full of sugar and happy with her purchases, she felt content now to sit and watch the tourist cruisers as they headed upstream toward the distant peaks.

“I hope you’ve not been buying any more cushions,” a familiar, sardonic drawl broke into her thoughts.

Surprised, Ishara turned her attention away from the water to the android who was draping a formal brown jacket over the back of the chair opposite her. “This place is beautiful!” she exclaimed. “I’ve never seen anywhere like it.”

“That’s not a ‘no’,” Lore answered, sitting down. Since the ship had developed a lounge cushions had multiplied quicker than a plague of Tribbles. Ishara found Lore’s determination to stem the flow amusing and she rolled her eyes as he glanced suspiciously round her ankles for large cushion filled shopping bags.

He was dressed smartly in a fitted black turtleneck sweater and trousers rather than the outlandish loose knit styles he normally wore. It suited him, brought an air of cultured sophistication that was right for the traditional city. 

“Just what you see.” Ishara indicated her little treasure trove piled on the table.

Always curious, Lore looked. He pulled a disgusted face at the assortment of fruit visible through her retro string shopping bag, then peeked in the small paper bag and rolled his eyes at the handmade chocolates.

“Are you shopping too?” Ishara enquired sweetly.

Lore never ‘shopped’. He knew what he wanted, went directly to where it was sold, bought it and went back to the ship - mission complete. He didn’t understand how Ishara could spend so much time happily looking at things she had no intention of purchasing. It was a subject they returned to again and again.

In truth they both knew that he was on his way to a meeting at one of the commercial headquarters on the other side of the city, hence the smart clothes. There was a stolen data rod in his pocket containing secrets, boring ones admittedly to anyone who wasn’t in the bioplastics industry, but dynamite to the companies looking for an edge over their rivals. It had taken ingenuity and cunning to get the rod in the first place and Lore was looking forward confidently to the pay off.

He’d beamed down a little early. Ishara wondered if he had sought her out deliberately - after all she had told him where she was going and this cafe was close to the market - or if their meeting was coincidence. There was no point asking. Even in his best mood Lore would never admit that he’d transported down just to spend a little time with her.

He must have picked up the implication in her question though, because he broke into a sly grin. “I’m out picking up women,” he retorted. He leaned back in his chair a little and winked at a somewhat older, very sophisticated looking brunette a few tables away who had been eyeing him with appreciation. The woman smiled as if amused but looked away.

Keeping a straight face with difficulty - the idea of Lore picking up another organic being was as funny as imagining him shopping - Ishara raised her eyebrows at him.

“I’m still going home with you though,” he assured her. He leant forward again and fixed her with his most sensual stare, “Women with jam moustaches activate my sexuality programming without needing to try.”

“I do not- !“ Reflexively Ishara began to wipe the edges of her mouth with her napkin as the android smirked at her. “Is it gone?” she asked, then, when he was too busy laughing to reply she lifted her bag off the table and began to rummage through it for her compact mirror.

The rectangular clutch bag had been covering one of her purchases, a small grey leather bound book with unusual swirling silver borders and title.

Still chuckling Lore took it from the table.

Ishara checked her reflection in her little compact. She was fine. Either she’d succeeded in wiping the jam away or it had never been there to begin with. She turned her attention back to the android, ready to complain about his weird sense of humour, then fell silent as their eyes met.

Lore had stopped laughing. He looked suddenly, inexplicably, furious. He waved the book in the air, demanding sharply, “What the hell is this?”

“A book. I got it from the flea market.”

He made a noise of total disbelief. “Right.” He stood and slammed the book down on the table so loudly that the cup and saucer rattled and Ishara flinched. The cafe had fallen silent as all the other customers started watching them but Lore seemed beyond caring. Rage blazed in his golden eyes. He snatched his jacket from the back of the chair, pulling it on in jerky movements. “You bitch.”

“What?!”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know.” He pointed at the book with a finger that shook with fury. “If you bring that on my ship it’ll go out the airlock. You along with it. Don’t think I don’t mean it, Ishara!”

With that he turned on his heel and stormed away.

Ishara stared after him, dumbfounded.

 

 

“Wow. I thought your boyfriend was attractive until he opened his mouth. Just shows how lousy my taste in men is.” A woman’s voice with a cultured New Geneva accent cut loudly into the long silence that followed.

The acid comment seemed to break the spell over the other patrons of the cafe. There were a few laughs of agreement and people returned to their coffees and conversations, the incident forgotten.

If Ishara hadn’t been so shocked she might have laughed too and added her own caustic witticisms about Lore’s dreadful behaviour. Instead she just carried on staring at the spot where the android had disappeared into the distance, unable to believe the sudden change that had taken place in him.

“Are you ok?” Despite her sharp words the sophisticated woman - strangely it was the older brunette who Lore had winked at - slid into Lore’s empty seat and stared at Ishara with genuine concern, “I take it from your face he isn’t always like that.”

Ishara shook her head mutely. Lore had a mercurial temper at the best of times, but he didn’t usually go off the deep end without any warning at all. “It was the book,” she said, astonishment in her voice. “He just went crazy.”

The two women stared at the leather bound novel on the table as if it were an unexploded bomb. Finally the brunette stretched out a hand and lifted it so she could read the title.

“Frankenstein.”

 

 

Lore strode through the streets of the city in the vague direction of the bridge. Rage pulsed inside him and the compulsion to punch someone or overturn market stalls was almost overpowering.

Mind racing, he considered transporting straight back to the ship and leaving then and there. Forget the money. Forget Ishara. He could have the satisfaction of throwing all her belongings out of the airlock into space and then he would get his life back on track with no more organic involvement.

What the hell did she think she was doing with that book? He wouldn’t tolerate being mocked... he never had done, even back then...

Memory files that hadn’t been activated for years were open now, and no matter how hard he tried to close them they were insistent, tumbling into his thoughts.

Omicron Theta. His father. Juliana.

Frankenstein.

 

 

The brunette - Cinzia - had insisted on getting them both another coffee. Ishara got the uncomfortable feeling that the older woman was keeping an eye on her, checking she was ok after Lore’s embarrassing display of temper. She was fine, now that the surprise had faded, but somehow she felt it would be even more embarrassing to admit that erratic scenes were par for the course with Lore.

Mercifully Cinzia didn’t ask any questions, just engaged in light conversation, telling Ishara a little about the history of the city and her own life there. Cinzia had come to New Geneva to study at the prestigious Krempe College some twenty years ago and fallen in love with the beautiful river and mountains. Now she could not ever leave, she said, her heart had found its home.

Cinzia held the book in her hand as she talked and flicked through the pages, lightly and randomly. As they finished drinking she placed it back on the table, looked directly at Ishara and spoke with authority, “I can tell you that it’s a work of fiction, published on Earth five hundred years ago. It seems to have several narrators, which makes it hard to get the sense of the story with only a quick glance - although the ending seems unhappy.”

“That’s amazing!”

Cinzia laughed, then became serious at Ishara’s genuine wonder. “Is it?” asked shrewdly.

“I can read,” Ishara said quickly, then felt her face redden at how defensive she sounded. She sighed, “I’m just not very good at it when the words are long or unusual. The place I grew up, it wasn’t like this....” she gestured at the clean river, the boats, the mountains - even the cafe table with its neat tablecloth. There had been nothing good on Turkana IV. Maybe she remembered attending school as a young child, it must have been where she learnt her basic reading skills, but once she joined her cadre the only lessons had been weapons training and survival.

“So the book..?”

“I like to look at the bindings. I don’t read them.”

“I collect glass birds myself,” Cinzia replied understandingly. “And your boyfriend doesn’t notice?”

“Lore sees me reading my PADD. The difference between a fashion magazine and a five hundred year old novel wouldn’t occur to him.”

There was a silence then the older woman asked, “Is he good in bed?”

Ishara half wanted to contradict the assumption that sex was the only reason she was with Lore, but after his behaviour it didn’t seem worth the effort. “Very.”

“Ah,” Cinzia nodded as if Ishara’s answer explained everything. She opened her handbag to take out a personal communicator, “I have to go back to work myself but I’m going to speak to someone at Krempe College - my old professor, his name is Clerval. He specialises in Ancient Earth Literature and he will know this book. I will ask him to receive you in half an hour.”

 

 

Lore quickly reached the north bank, the city’s hub of industry and commerce. The buildings were still tall and made of blocks of cool grey stone but this side of the river had an air of steady practicality that was reassuring. He stopped walking and tried taking a deep breath - not that he needed to breathe but it was a desperate attempt to cool his neural processors and bring them back into something resembling a regular operating pattern.

His rage had subsided a little and the urge to leave New Geneva had passed. He wanted the money for that data rod, after all the trouble he’d gone to to get the damn thing.

He wanted Ishara too - even though she had revealed a hitherto unsuspected death wish. If she wanted to play dangerous games then fine, they could play, but they both knew who would come out on top.

Lore took another deep breath. He just needed to get a grip on himself before the meeting.

The android closed his eyes and began reprioritising his mental functions, giving his logic programs first call on the processing power of his positronic brain. Emotions and memories were shunted sideways - Lore uttered a silent promise that if they would just stay quiet during his negotiations he would allow them free rein later once the deal was done.

 

“Professor Clerval? We have an appointment?”

Ishara had said goodbye to Cinzia at the cafe. The older woman waved away her thanks with a smile as she returned to her own life with her glass birds and her beloved city.

Alone once more Ishara made her way deeper into the south bank, home of the arts and education. She felt overwhelmed and out of place as she entered the imposing doors of Krempe College, one of New Geneva’s finest, and oldest, teaching establishments, but if she wanted to know more about the book she knew she didn’t have much choice.

There was no way the Pakled ship’s computer held any information about human literature and the interweb in New Geneva was restricted to citizens at registered addresses only - presumably the government’s idea to keep their online space as clean as the rest of their city.

Ishara had navigated the long corridors full of students, asking directions to Professor Clerval’s rooms every now and then. Finally a helpful Vulcan directed her to a lecture hall where he had just finished speaking.

Another tide of students pressed out through the doors before she was able to enter, but after a moment or two Ishara could see inside the hall. A short, round man with a silvery grey beard stood by a lectern in the centre. He seemed to be deactivating a large holo display that must have been part of his lecture material. A banner bore the words, ‘William Shakespeare’ for a moment before it winked out into darkness.

He looked blankly at Ishara as she hailed him, then appeared to remember something and frowned, “Are you... was it Ishara? Cinzia said you might call.”

Ishara gave him her most engaging smile, “Yes. Cinzia said you would help me.”

“She was one of my best students. Now she is a successful businesswoman she is a great friend and benefactor to the college,” his tone was kind but Ishara had the distinct impression he wouldn’t be speaking to her at all if it wasn’t for Cinzia - and her money. “To be honest, if you haven’t yet read the book I would suggest that you might try-“

Unwilling to tell him that she didn’t have the reading skills to get past the first chapter Ishara said firmly, “It would take too long.”

“An audio recording?”

She shook her head.

He must have picked up a little of her agitation for he asked, “Do you need to pass a test, my dear?”

The idea that she was clever enough to be in some kind of education in New Geneva made Ishara smile again in spite of herself, “No, but I need to understand quickly what the book is about. The sight of it seemed to upset my- my partner and I don’t know why.”

On impulse Ishara drew the novel out of her pocket as if the sight of it would convince the old man to help her.

Clerval took it, drummed his fingers over the silver swirls on the front, then appeared to make a decision. “Ah, well, I have half an hour between lectures and I was about to have a cup of tea as is my custom. I’m sure Bettis will have put enough in the pot for two.She usually does. Won’t you join me, my dear?” He had already started walking. “I only have until the lesson bell rings.”

Ishara agreed eagerly. She hated tea, but she would drink a gallon of the stuff to get the man’s help.

She found herself following him across a wood panelled hall into a small, sun-filled sitting room that faced into the inner courtyard of the college buildings. Old books lined three of the walls and the fourth was given over to large windows, which stood slightly ajar. Green tendrils of flowering creeper grew outside on the old stone, and Ishara could hear the sound of a bee. It was everything she had imagined a New Geneva college might be, learned and peaceful.

There were two arm chairs and a table placed in front of the window and the old man waved Ishara to sit while he fetched a cup. Whoever Bettis was she must have been efficient, there was already a tray on the table with a pretty ceramic tea pot and cup and a plate of biscuits.

“The story itself is hundreds of years old,” Clerval sat down, handed her the book back carefully, then busied himself pouring the tea for them both. “To be honest I’m surprised that any copies were recently made, particularly ones with such care in the binding. Milk, my dear?”

“Yes, please.” Anything to dilute the taste of the tea. “I found the book in the flea market,” Ishara confessed as she took the cup from the old man, “it was the binding that attracted me. It’s unusual - silver leaf, not gold.”

“Taking the trouble to bind a book beautifully signifies respect for the contents,” he replied approvingly, smiling at her with true warmth for the first time. “You think it was the contents of the story that upset your friend?”

“I- I honestly don’t know.”

“Well, I shall tell you the bare bones and we shall see,” the professor sipped his tea, then sat back in his chair. “It is the story of a brilliant but unconventional scientist, Victor Frankenstein, who creates a..” he seemed to struggle for the right word, “an artificial man and then rejects him.”

Ishara stiffened in her chair and gripped the tea cup as if it were her only anchor. This had the potential to be much, much worse than she’d imagined. “Go on,” she whispered.

 

 

Lore gazed out the large boardroom window, watching the life of the city. At this height he could see the river with the small boats carrying tourists to the foot of the mountains. He had never been on a boat, the environs on Omicron Theta had been mostly farmland and since then-

He broke off the thought. It was foolhardy to reference the past when you were actively trying to keep memories suppressed.

Across the table a man in a suit cleared his throat and declared, “It’s too much.”

Immediately Lore turned to pick up his jacket. “If you won’t meet my price I can find someone else who will,” he told the man flatly. “It’s nothing to me who comes out on top here.”

He stood, nodded politely and began to walk toward the door.

“Wait!”

 

 

“So, Frankenstein dies and his creation, gripped by it’s own isolation, it’s suffering, hatred and remorse, leaves the scene, probably going to its own death.”

Professor Clerval’s voice trailed away to a long silence. Ishara could hear the droning of the beesoutside the window and she raised her face to the light, aware of how cold she had become despite the warm sunshine that pooled around the chairs.

“Thank you,” she managed to say finally. “That does make things clearer.”

“You look shaken, my dear. Surely such an ancient horror story has no resonance in these enlightened times...”

Ishara opened her mouth to reply, but was saved by a ringing from somewhere deep within the building. The lesson bell. “Thank you so much for your time Professor,” Ishara put her tea cup down and stood quickly, not wanting to detain the old man for longer than he had promised.

Clerval stood too and they walked to the door together. At the threshold they shook hands and he kept her in his grip for a moment, a question in his eyes.

There was no easy way to explain. Ishara settled for asking, “Have you ever heard of Dr Noonian Soong?”

Clerval looked surprised - probably shocked that someone as uneducated as her was aware of the names of any scientists - and nodded, “Yes, although it’s not my field of expertise. He was a cyberneticist.”

Ishara nodded grimly, “And a terrible father.”

 

 

To Lore’s surprise the negotiations went better than expected. His couldn’t-care-less-about-the-money detachment convinced the buyer that he had a high offer in his back pocket already.In the end the man’s sweaty-palmed desperation to own the data rod had been palpable. He paid double Lore’s best estimate and the android walked back along the bank of the river considerably richer than he had been before.

Normally he would have been smugly arrogant, celebrating his own cleverness, maybe even contemptuously remarking how stupid organic beings were. However now he had no one to tell and, although he allowed his emotional programs to resume their normal function, he felt strangely empty.

He knew he had overreacted. Cool analysis told him that it wasn’t like Ishara to provoke conflict, particularly not the sort that could get her thrown off the ship - or worse.

Also, the confusion on her face when he called her a bitch had seemed genuine, which meant that her purchase of the novel was pure coincidence - or the pitiless unkindness of the universe, which most of the time seemed to be directed against him personally - but that was all. With Ishara’s oddly eclectic tastes in reading material, perhaps it had only been a matter of time before she managed to innocently pick up that particular novel.

Lore swore under his breath. He should have kept his cool and asked if he could read it first, then conveniently misplaced it in the ship’s trash compactor. That would have been the smart thing to do, then he could have silently shoved the whole horror story to the back of his memory files, where it had been lurking for years.

Omicron Theta. His Father. Juliana. Frankenstein.

When he looked back it seemed that the colonist’s decision to perform that ancient novel as a theatrical play had been the beginning of a lot of endings.

 

**********

 

The invitation to the colony’s community theatre had come through Juliana. It wasn’t the sort of thing Soong or Lore would have bothered with normally, but Juliana had been insistent.

“Everyone will be there,” she said, cornering them both in the lab, “and I’ve heard that the players have worked really hard on this production. It would be good to try to interact with the community in a positive way.” Her eyes slid toward Lore as she finished her sentence then returned to her husband’s with a pleading element he was unable to ignore.

“Ok, ok, we’ll all go,” Soong agreed, putting his arm around her. “A family outing, eh?” He clapped the android on the shoulder with his free hand and stood grinning at them both.

Lore rolled his eyes but said nothing.

 

Yet as they took their seats in the theatre Lore had to admit that he was curious. He’d only been to one play before, not long after he was activated - supposedly it was a great tragedy but Lore had found it amusing. When he laughed out loud at the wrong moment and disrupted the performance the director had asked his father not to bring him back until his humour program worked properly.

Tonight, for his parents’ sake, Lore was on his best behaviour. He’d even asked his father what the play was so that he could study it beforehand to work out what the appropriate responses should be. Soong hadn’t known, apparently the amateur actors were keeping it a closely guarded secret.

The lights fell and there was a ripple of anticipation in the audience as the director stepped out, took a bow, and announced, “Omicron Theta Community Players Present...” there was a tantalising pause before the man concluded, “Frankenstein.”

The title was unfamiliar to Lore, but he was aware of the sudden stillness in his father. The way that the old man glanced swiftly at Juliana before returning his attention to the stage, his face carefully expressionless.

After the first quarter of an hour Lore began to see why; the play was about a scientist, Frankenstein, who developed an obsession with creating life, almost driving himself mad in the process. The actor strode up and down the stage - was it Lore’s imagination or was he deliberately mimicking Dr Soong in some of his mannerisms? - as he discussed in gruesome detail how he collected parts from the dead to give life to his new creation.

Centre stage, another actor lay hidden by a sheet on what looked like a stone slab. As Dr Frankenstein reached the height of his monologue he snatched the fabric back with a flourish, revealing his creation to the world.

The creature sat up and moaned loudly - there were several gasps in the audience. It was obviously meant to be a hideous monster and the actor’s appearance was heavily disfigured by prosthetics.

What registered with Lore was not the horror of the monster’s features but the colour of make up that had been chosen for it’s skin tone - a pale, shimmering gold close to his own bioplast.

Lore tensed, ready to stand up and storm out, but his father grabbed his arm, restraining him. “Sit down,” the old man muttered, shooting the android a warning look.

Lore sat, simmering as he watched the play unfold. Every now and then he would catch the eye of one of the colonists, who were no doubt looking across to see if their mockery had hit it’s intended target.

In spite of himself, Lore was shocked. Did the rest of the community hate them - hate him - so much that they had cast him in the role of a monster? He’d played a few pranks that was for sure, but all of them were mostly harmless and certainly not worse than some of the exploits of the teenage tearaways amongst the colony’s other families.

He had also been blamed for things he hadn’t done, been forced to apologise - and when he complained to his father the old man had just shaken his head and said something about ‘The boy who cried wolf’. The android hadn’t been sure what that meant.

On stage Frankenstein, the creator, was rejecting the creature because of it’s ugliness, running away from it. The creature took it’s revenge by killing Frankenstein’s younger brother and framing the family’s housemaid so that the girl was executed for the crime.

After further violence Frankenstein and the creature met again. Lore found himself transfixed as the oddly erudite creature reasoned with the creator who had abandoned it so cruelly. The monster told Dr Frankenstein that he was responsible for it’s suffering, for it was lonely and miserable, shunned by mankind and desperate. 

To Lore’s surprise the creature begged Frankenstein to build it a wife so it wouldn’t be alone and, fearful for the rest of his family, the doctor agreed.

However a moment later Frankenstein had thought better of his promise. There was mayhem on stage as the creature murdered Frankenstein’s wife in revenge, then fled, with Dr Frankenstein in hot pursuit.

It appeared that the effort of chasing a superhuman monster had taken its toll because after a couple of frantic appearances and disappearances across the stage - which provoked some unplanned giggles from the audience - Dr Frankenstein collapsed, apparently dying. The monster reappeared too and took the fallen doctor in his arms, professing it’s remorse and grief.

The play ended with the creature gathering the dead Frankenstein into its arms and shambling away, ready to die itself now that it’s creator no longer lived.

The curtain fell. Lore felt his lip curl in disgust and fury.

“Clap, boy,” Soong snapped as the lights went back up.

Unwillingly Lore complied, aware once again of their neighbour’s unfriendly eyes upon them.

 

Juliana and Soong spent a few minutes exchanging pleasantries with some of the colonists before they left the theatre. Lore stood to one side, still seething as he watched - he thought theother humans looked bemused at the scientist’s lack of reaction. They had meant to make fun of him, humiliate him with the choice of play, had he not even noticed?

Soon the three of them began the walk back to Soong’s lab, a little outside the town. When they were out of earshot of the buildings Lore exploded and the discussion continued loudly until they reached the main door of the long, low building that they called home.

“Why can’t we leave here?” Lore asked half in anger, half desperation. He stood on the thresholdwhile his parents went inside, reluctant to follow, as if they could quit the place that moment if they desired. “You could continue your work anywhere-“

“No, no, no,” Soong dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “Omicron Theta is our home. We won’t be driven out by a few ignorant souls.”

“A few - the whole colony was there! They all knew-“

“Lore, I won’t discuss this...” the old man turned his back on the android and began to head along the corridor to his quarters.

“But they hate us!” Lore shouted after him, his voice raw with emotion.

Juliana followed her husband and the door to their room slid shut behind them, leaving Lore distraught and alone.

Throughout the conversation Juliana had said nothing, merely a bystander to the debate. Lore had been gripped by the strangest suspicion that she had known about the colonist’s choice of production beforehand. It didn’t make sense, she loved his father, had assisted in Lore’s creation, had no possible reason to encourage hostility... but there it was, the beginning of that paranoid certainty - Juliana would be happy to see the android project ended and Soong’s attention directed to something else.

In that moment - although the moment contained a million thoughts and calculations, all processed at lightning speed - his sense of family toward Juliana ended. He never had thought of her as a mother in the way that he thought of Noonian Soong as a father, he just hadn’t realised it until now. In some ways he had always felt that Juliana would have liked biological children, her own flesh and blood, but she had gone along with her husband’s desire to create artificial life at the expense of her own wishes.

Soong was so selfish. For the first time Lore felt a sense of contempt toward his creator, a rising conviction that humans were stupid and small, only able to see their own desires.

“Remember that I am thy creature; I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel,” the words of Frankenstein’s creature came unexpectedly back to Lore as he stood in the doorway, half in the lab’s artificial lighting, half under the darkness of the stars.

The play had been rubbish - so poor, so amateurish that it could have been amusing, if it hadn’t been for the malicious intent behind it. Yet the story of Frankenstein crystallised a growing feeling that a creator had some responsibility for his creation - but after creating an android who was the superior of these people in every way Soong wanted him to be a good little boy who sat silently while he was hated and treated unfairly.

No more. Hadn’t the speech from Frankenstein’s creature resonated in him, secretly thrilling him as he sat in the darkness?

“Beware, for I am fearless and therefore powerful. I will watch with the wiliness of a snake, that I may sting with its venom. Man, you shall repent of the injuries you inflict.”

Lore felt a vicious grin stretch his lips - they thought he was a monster, did they?

Pffft. He hadn’t even gotten started....

 

 

Lore’s revenge was a work of twisted beauty. He started with the colony’s power supply, then moved on to the replicators and sanitation systems - a problem here, a problem there, then an outage that lasted days. He was careful to afflict Soong’s home with a mild version of each problem now and then, so that his laboratory wouldn’t seem immune.

With the erratic performance of the replicators the colonists focused on their farming harder than ever, only for the crops to develop a mysterious blight and begin to fail. Community meetings were called, people began to say that the colony was cursed and looked for a supernatural cause.

At the same time Lore got personal, deciding to settle his scores with those involved in the production of Frankenstein. There was a fire, a poisoning and a near fatal accident involving some malfunctioning farm equipment.

Lore savoured every report of misfortune with internal glee, bitterly aware that it was the only time in his existence when he’d brought all his faculties to bear for his own purposes instead of Dr Soong’s.

 

At night he would sneak out and climb high into the green hills of Omicron Theta, as far away from the humans as he could get, and lie on the grass watching the stars. His father had given him an unwanted graviton beam emitter to play with and he tinkered with it to boost the range then set it so that it pulsed toward the stars, half wishing that he would make contact with another superior life form like himself - although he knew it was impossible.

In a strange way he was lonely. The play had ended any good feelings he had toward the colonists and his bond with his father had been strained further than the old man knew. All that remained inside him was emptiness and hatred - and a growing hatred of himself too, for at heart he had never wanted to become a monster.

 

Lore’s reign of terror lasted for maybe six months before the colonists began to suspect that he was behind their misfortunes. He wasn’t quite sure what tipped them off, perhaps he had gotten complacent, bored of the game, and slipped up somewhere, leaving a clue. Whatever the reasoning - whether they had solid evidence or just suspicions - the colonists began to petition Dr Soong to deactivate his creation.

Soong had resisted for a while, believing Lore when he denied involvement but his willpower had grown weaker when Juliana sided with their neighbours. Lore had fitted a secret listening device in the old man’s lab, cunningly programmed to activate with raised voices and he had heard them as they argued.

“You’ve made him too human.” Juliana shouted, her voice trembling with emotion.

“He’s not a toy, Juliana,” Soong snapped back. “Lore is a thinking, feeling machine. You want him to be less so that people can pat him on the head and feel comfortable?”

“But he scares people. He scares me. He used to be rebellious - now he’s uncontrollable!” There was a silence then she continued, her voice pleading, “Maybe we should do as the colonists ask and deactivate him - just for a while! Just so we can figure out what’s wrong-“

Soong was resolute in his answer. “No.”

 

Lore had basked in a false sense of security. He believed that his father would protect him, partly out of love and partly out of not wanting to admit that his perfect android was a failure. Soong’s human selfishness and pride were Lore’s safety net.

Until the fateful day when he was summoned to the lab for ‘routine maintenance’ and suddenly realised as he lay there, circuits exposed, that all the systems governing his movement had been remotely disabled. His eyes - optical systems still active - had flown to his father’s and he tried to speak - vocal processor offline - to beg for his existence.

Soong’s blue eyes were filled with tears. “I’m truly sorry, boy,” he croaked.

Frozen, terrified, Lore had felt the old man’s hand creep to the centre of his back, fingers grasping for his off switch.

Blackness.

 

But by then Lore’s graviton beam directed at the stars had paid off. He had made contact with the Crystalline Entity, and although it arrived years too late to prevent them from disassembling him, in the end he had taken the ultimate revenge on the colonists at Omicron Theta.

 

*********

 

Ishara strolled aimlessly back along the south bank of the river. After she left the college she had transported to the ship, half hoping to find Lore had returned from his meeting, but there was no sign of him. Unwilling to spend the afternoon alone waiting for the android, she returned to the city. Now although the midday sun sparkled on the water she was immune to the beauty. The fresh breeze that flicked up little waves blew against her skin and she shivered, pulling her jacket a little tighter around her body.

In her pocket she could feel the book rubbing against one hand and her fingers traced the silver borders thoughtfully. If only she wasn’t so ignorant she would never have bought it in the first place, but even Cinzia, who had been the Professor’s great student had not heard of such an ancient story.

That was all it was though - a story.

Of course she could see why Lore would hate it. Of course there were parallels between Frankenstein and his creature and Dr Soong and Lore that gave the novel an uncanny feeling - but it couldn’t be the story itself that had made Lore flip so violently at just the sight of the book.

There was more, probably relating to Soong himself and whatever had happened to make himdisassemble Lore and leave him on a shelf to rot - an event that had scarred the android deeply, she knew.

But what connection could it have to Frankenstein?

For all that she’d tried her best to discover what had angered him so much, she still didn’t know exactly - and wouldn’t, unless he told her. It wasn’t like she could pin him down and make him confess, the way he would have done if the roles were reversed.

She stopped walking and leant against the metal safety rail that ran along the riverside, preoccupied by her thoughts.

Neither of them talked willingly about the past and for all that they seemed to share an existence now, there were great gaps in their knowledge of each other.

One thing she did know was that Lore was no monster. Her heart ached for him.

 

 

On the north bank Lore gazed out across the water. His emotions still churned, but the turmoil was manageable. The memory files that had pushed insistently to be reviewed since he saw the copy of Frankenstein that morning were played out. Now that their purpose was complete his mind was clearer. He felt functional again.

Frankenstein’s creature had been remorseful in the end - Lore wasn’t the least bit sorry. He had revelled in persecuting the colonists who hated him and given the chance he would do the same again.

In spite of all that he’d done to hurt the other humans he had never lifted a hand against Soong or Juliana. The extent of his father’s betrayal still staggered him. The callous way that he’d just turned him off, as if despite his sentience he was simply a machine to be activated and deactivated at will, while Soong moved on to creating the next android and forgot all about him...

The memory of his helplessness as Soong shut him down, system by system, still had the power to make him shudder.

Perhaps Frankenstein’s creature had got it right when he asked for a bride, Lore mused with grim humour. At least it would have had someone to watch it’s back.

That weird thought must have belonged to a chain of thoughts too fast for him to decipher, but it seemed to trigger sudden recognition in his optical systems and he realised with a start that he could see Ishara standing almost opposite him on the other side of the river. How long had she been there? She hadn’t seen him, she wouldn’t at this distance - his superior eyesight gave him an advantage.

If she hadn’t known anything about the contents of the book before, she would do by now. Ishara was nothing if not resourceful and his furious outburst had guaranteed her curiosity.

Would she see him in the story, identify him as a violent and unwanted creature who didn’t fit in anywhere the same way the colonists had?

Lore stared at her across the blue water. She looked thoughtful and somewhat sad, but not hugely distressed and he realised that she could be pondering his ban on her buying more cushions for all he could tell.

If he wanted to know what she was thinking he’d have to go over and talk to her.

He hesitated, sure that her solemn expression was his fault - he had probably ruined her morning by yelling at her like that. She had been bright and beautiful, enjoying the water, enjoying covering herself in jam and he had spoilt it with his vicious nastiness.

Lore frowned, wondering exactly when ‘aesthetically pleasing by human standards’ - his usual internal assessment of Ishara’s form - had changed to ‘beautiful’. What a bizarre discovery, but now, as he watched her, he couldn’t quite deny the truth of it.

Another of the creature’s lines from that hellish play wafted unexpectedly back to him, “I do know that for the sympathy of one living being, I would make peace with all. I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe.”

Love? Pfffft. As if.

Yet somehow the line was enough to galvanise him into movement. ‘The sympathy of one living being’ - if there was one living being who would have sympathy for him it was Ishara, if there was one person to whom he could relate the dark story from his past it was Ishara. He didn’t even know if he wanted to communicate - if he could bring himself to talk about it - but the warmth of her arms and body around him would be a sympathy in itself and that would be enough.

 

 

Ishara felt a wild surge of emotion as she caught sight of the android crossing the bridge toward her. Although once again she’d been on the receiving end of his anti-social behaviour she had to admit that a strong sense of fear for him had been eating her since she left the college. Now, physically at least, she could see that her lover was ok and that was a huge relief.

Lore must have seen her already but he didn’t make eye contact, just kept his head down and sauntered slowly, perhaps giving her a chance to walk away if she was angry with him. She guessed that he must have got control of his rage or he wouldn’t be approaching her at all.

He drew close and leaned against the rail next to her without making eye contact.

“Hey,” he said quietly. It sounded like a cautious greeting and sheepish apology rolled into one.

“Hey,” Ishara replied, favouring him with a sidelong smile. Basic good manners dictated that he should apologise properly - although getting Lore to apologise for anything, ever, was like getting blood out of a stone - but somehow he looked so forlorn that she wanted to comfort him.

She drew the Frankenstein novel out of her pocket and held it in front of her for a second. Lore stiffened as he saw it but didn’t speak or run away.

It was pretty in the sunlight. The grey leather cover made a soft looking background for the embossed silver leaf that glittered on the scrollwork borders and title.

With a flick of her wrist Ishara tossed the book into the water. It didn’t splash, just disappeared gracefully down into the clear blue waters until it was lost altogether.

They stood side by side, silent, pretending to watch the boats on the river.

“I never actually read the books on my shelf, you know,” Ishara blurted out suddenly. “My reading isn’t good enough for the long words and old paper. I just buy them because I like the bindings.”

Lore made a noise that was half laugh, half groan of sudden comprehension, as though she’d revealed something that he knew he should have worked out for himself.

She could see the curious glint in his gold eyes, but to her surprise he didn’t ask any questions. As if her admission had dislodged something within him he began to speak quickly.

“When I was on Omicron Theta the colonists put on a production of Frankenstein. It was a not so subtle hint to my father about what they thought of him - and me.” Lore’s lips twisted in a bitter smile, “The old man forced me to sit through it - and clap at the end.” He hesitated then added, “I took it badly.”

So that was it! Ishara eyes widened as she took the information in - she knew him well enough to guess that ‘badly’ could be the understatement of the century. She shook her head and grimaced.

Questions bubbled up, but she followed his example and didn’t ask. Perhaps they would talk later, when they lay naked in bed and the darkness made it easier to be honest. Having come this far she wanted to hear the rest of the tale, but it was up to him.

“OK, your sob story wins,” she muttered, still shaking her head.

Lore gave a wry puff of laughter, “Thanks.”

Her brutally casual summation and dismissal of both their childhoods seemed to make him relax, as if she had closed a door that he had been unable to.

“So,” he said suddenly, sounding more like himself, “aren’t you going to ask how the meeting went?”

“I take it from your question that you’ve been terribly lucky and they gave you an obscene amount of money?” Ishara bantered.

“Luck? Pffft. I was brilliant,” he retorted, his habitual arrogance returning in force.

To her surprise he didn’t go straight into details about how clever he’d been. “Aren’t you going to tell me more?” she asked, willing to indulge him for once.

“No. I’m going to take you to lunch.”

Ishara gaped at him, “But you hate it when I eat!”

“Yeah,” Lore sighed heavily with the air of someone making a noble sacrifice, then with perfect comic timing he added, “but I’d like to see the jam moustache again.” She caught a flash of his usual smug grin as he turned away from her and began to walk back toward the cafe.

Smiling in spite of herself, Ishara followed him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I didn't write Frankenstein, it was Mary Shelley.  
> And the Lore/Ishara pairing is based on the wonderful stories by Konstantya. 
> 
> This started off as a short fluffy story with Ishara’s poor reading skills and confession that she didn’t read the books on her shelf as a sort of subplot to the main theme. I was trying to think of a book that Lore would hate and I came up with Frankenstein - but why does he hate it SO much? BOOM! Fluff out - angst in!! Although I have tried to balance it out a bit with the fluffy beginning and ending.


End file.
